


Coming Home

by mmmuse



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5737507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1918. The Poldark family have long assumed Ross Poldark perished at war, including his young wife at Nampara, Demelza. However, Christmas 1918... Ross returns, but he is almost completely blind.</p><p>A modernish AU Written for the Tell Me a Story I Haven't Written meme on Tumblr. Prompt by @goodgirlwhoshopeful</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return to Nampara

 

> 22 DECEMBER 1918
> 
> MRS DEMELZA POLDARK NAMPARA COTTAGE CORNWALL
> 
> WE ARE PLEASED TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR HUSBAND, CAPTAIN ROSS VENNOR POLDARK, HAS BEEN DISCOVERED ALIVE….

 

Demelza read the telegram for the forth time before it slid through her limp fingertips, fluttering slowly to the floor.  _Alive?_ she though to herself.  _He was_ alive _?_  The room spun dizzily as her vision greyed around the edges and she sat, rather abruptly, upon the flagstone floor. She raised a trembling hand to her forehead, a wave of nausea rolling over her, leaving the bitter taste of bile in her mouth. Her husband, the man she’d loved for so long and had married only a month before he’d been declared dead, was returning home to her. 

That was when the crying started.

She was almost in the exact same position she’d been in thirteen months ago when she’d received the news of his death. Verity, bless her heart, had been at the cottage with her, by sheer happenstance, and had cradled her in her arms as she’d howled the bleeding edge of her grief against her cousin’s breast, while Verity’s own tears felt down her cheeks and onto Demelza’s back. Demelza barely remembered what happened that first week. She remembered people from the village paying condolence calls, how Prudie and Jinny had draped black crepe along the doors and shrouded the mirrors. She remembered the funeral that Francis had insisted they hold, no body to bury, but a coffin borne up upon the shoulders of Ross’s friends as if there had been.

It wasn’t until February that she’d begun to see the colour of things with any clarity, for her world had been tinged grey that horrible November afternoon: the first bloom of crocuses doing their best against the harsh Cornish wind. The smell of coffee on a cold morning. 

She’d been in his library, on Valentine’s Day, touching the books he’d loved and remembering the timbre of his voice as he’d read to her. Her fingers fell upon a book of poetry he’d picked up on their honeymoon in London. She slid it from the shelf and, holding it reverently in her hands, opened to the page he’d dog-eared, to a poem by Thomas Gray.

_If I should die_  
_If I should die and leave you_  
_Be not like the others, quick undone_  
_Who keep long vigils by the silent_  
_dust and weep. For my sake turn to life and smile_  
_Nerving thy heart and trembling_  
_hand to comfort weaker souls than thee._  
_Complete these unfinished tasks of mine_  
_And I perchance may therein comfort thee._

As her tears had fallen, marking the pages with star-shaped splotches, the first, tiny flutterings had begun.

She comforted the small, weaker soul within her though the spring and the rain-swept summer, until she was born, their daughter, with cries as lusty then as they were now. Demelza heard them over the sound of her own wails of disbelief and rose to seek her. Julia Grace had her father’s hair and beautiful eyes, now clinging to her mother’s distressed face, an expression of fear and confusion creasing her tiny brow. Demelza held the child close, breathing in the warm smell of her and felt the first, tremulous smile cross her own face. “My darling girl,” she murmured, voice worn from her tears, “your father is coming home.”

It wasn’t until later when she’d laid the baby down for the night that she allowed herself to think about what the rest of the telegram had said:

 

> …ALIVE AFTER BEING DECLARED MISSING AND PRESUMED DEAD ON 1 JANUARY 1918 STOP WAS INJURED AND RECEIVED CARE FROM FRENCH CITIZENS STOP WILL ARRIVE 24 DECEMBER 1918 AT APPROX 9AM VIA AMBULANCE STOP WE REGRET ANY DISTRESS OUR ERRONEOUS REPORT MAY HAVE BROUGHT YOU FULL STOP 

Injured? How badly injured? Rather terribly, given the fact he’d been missing for over a year. The following day she walked over to Trenwith to ask Francis, who worked at the war office, to contact a colleague for more information. 

“What do you mean he’s been in the country for the last three months?” he bellowed into the phone. Demelza jerked her head towards his and leaned close to share the earpiece.

“He was injured in a mustard gas attack near Lyon,” the voice over the line scratched. “Once he was stable he was returned to England and has been in a hospital receiving specialized treatment.”

“Why were we not informed of his return immediately?” Demelza blurted, unable to stay silent any longer.

The voice on the other end of the line paused. “Captain Poldark…he requested we hold communication with his family until the prognosis was determined.”

Demelza stepped away from Francis and promptly fainted. She came awake several moments later, finding Verity seated next to her in one of the guest rooms. “Verity, why would he keep us away from him? Keep me away?”

Verity turned sympathetic eyes onto her young cousin. “He was very badly injured, Demelza, and not certain he would survive,” she said softly. 

“What happened to him?” Demelza asked, sitting up against the pillows and swiping at the tears on her cheeks. Damnable tears!

Verity swallowed. “My dear, he was almost completely blinded.”

 _Blind?_ she thought to herself, anger disintegrating in a second. Ross’s changeable hazel eyes were a wonder, really. She reckoned she’d fallen in love with his eyes from the moment she’d seen them. At times, they were shielded, protecting his thoughts as thoroughly as if they were made of stone. There were times, however, when the two of them were together, when she could see into his soul. Had they been damaged? Physically changed as a result of this gas attack? And would he be able to manage the farm? The mine? The questions came to her mind as quickly as a riptide, leaving her nearly speechless with anxiety.

She needed to go home. She needed time to absorb the news, to walk along the cliffs and think. She hugged Verity tight and stood to go. No one in the family felt Demelza would be capable of making it back to the cottage on her own. Francis drove her, and they were silent all the way back to the cottage until he pulled the car into the yard. He walked around the car to assist her from her seat and held her hand tight once she exited. “Demelza, will you be all right here alone tonight?”

She nodded slowly, distracted by her thoughts. “Yes, Francis.”

“And you are certain you do not want any of us here when he comes home?” he asked. 

She looked into his worried blue gaze. He’d been a good friend to her over the last several months, they  _all_ had. “I’m being selfish, Francis,” she said softly, “but I think this will be the best for all of us. Nothing too overwhelming at first.”

He nodded. “If you need us, send for us, cousin.”

She nodded, kissed him on the cheek and walked to her front door.

 

She barely slept the night before his arrival, her fears and all the second-guessing she’d done swirled around in her mind and roiled her stomach, leaving her nauseous and overwhelmed. She finally abandoned her efforts as dawn broke over the farm. Julia seemed to sense her mother’s anxiety and was, as a result, more fractious than usual. Prudie stepped forward and took the child, after she’d been fed, to the kitchen, allowing Demelza time to spend alone with her bath, for which she was grateful.

As she bathed, she took in the changes that had happened to her since the last time she’d been with Ross. Would he remember? And then she remembered: he wouldn’t be able to see the stretch marks, or the florid colour of her nipples, now elongated from nursing. Would he expect for them to resume their intimacies as if the past eleven months had not passed between? 

Did she? She’d burned for him for months before they married, and the strength of that desire had scared her until he’d taught her how to harness it, to focus it on the times they came together, releasing it to run wild and free between them, leaving them gasping, trembling, laughing with the joy of it. When she’d learned he was dead she pictured that desire, multi-dimensional and filled with every colour, taste and sensation in the universe -- shattering into a billion shards. Was there a way to put those pieces back together? Could they even begin to?

She shook her head to clear it from the memories that scrambled for supremacy and dressed. 

She stood in the parlour, smoothing her long red hair with her hand when she heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the yard. Her heart felt as if it were in her throat. She walked over and opened the door.

He stood at the threshold, an aide by his side, his hand on Ross’s arm. He took a step forward and held out his other hand. “Good morning, ma’am. I am Corporal Green from the army hospital in Bath. I am very happy to bring Captain Poldark home. We are deeply sorry for all of the confusion.”

“T-thank you, Corporal,” Demelza said, nodded her head and blinking hard to keep the tears of memory at bay and shook his hand.

“Captain Poldark, I will leave you to it, sir?” Green asked. Ross nodded. “Goodbye, sir, and good luck to you both.” With that, Green saluted him and released his arm. Ross wobbled for a brief second before leaning against the white cane held in his left hand. The vehicle engine started and, with a hiss of gears, drove out of the yard.

Ross turned to face her. He was dressed in a similar uniform as the one he’d worn when she’d bid him farewell at King’s Cross. His hat was worn low over his forehead, slightly cocked to the right. He was thinner than he’d been, but his frame still carried the lean, muscular strength it had had when he’d left her. She raised her eyes back to his face, noticing the vivid scar that ran down its length. The upper edge of the scar was hidden behind the dark, opaque lenses of the round glasses that shielded his eyes. 

His left hand rose up to remove the hat. “Hello, Demelza,” he said hoarsely.

“R-Ross,” she whispered. She closed the distance between them and flung herself against his body. He teetered for a moment before his arms circled her body, clamping her against him with the strength of twenty men, as if he would never let her go. She heard the clatter of his cane hitting the floor when he leaned his head back and found her lips with his own, with the surety of a homing pigeon heading to its roost after so many years away. Demelza’s tears slid down her cheeks as the remembered taste of him filled her mouth. She remembered how his chest felt against hers and the touch of his hands on her body. No longer memory, but fact, hard and urgent against her. Desire, once shattered beyond the point of restoration, came back in tones of red and green, blue, gold and silver, flashpoints of light bursting behind her eyelids. But first, before its resurrection, there were questions that needed answers. They separated and, arms clinging, moved into the room. 

They sat on the sofa, fingers linked, stroking, ever touching. She began. “Ross, why didn’t you tell us you were alive? Don’t you know I would have been by your side the minute you came back?”

He took a deep breath. “I know you would have, Demelza. But I wanted, no, I needed to assure myself that I could return here, to the mine, and function. Managing the mine. Working our land.” He paused. “Being your husband. And I needed to do that alone. Before I could come back to you.”

“So selfish,” she said, unable to keep some of the anger she’d bottled up from breaking free.

“It wasn’t intended to be, love,” he said, reaching for her arm before he ran his hand down it to capture her hand. “I needed to learn to see without seeing.” He reached up with the other hand and removed the glasses. She gasped. The scar, angry and red, came within millimetres of his left eye. She raised her hand, her index finger tracing the scar’s path down his face. He closed his eyes, black lashes sweeping over eyes she’d yet to see, and shuddered.

“Ross,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of his scarred eye. He opened his eyes as she leaned back. The whites of his eyes had yellowed, were bloodshot and looked as though they’d been scarred. The beautiful hazel irises were there, but cloudy.

“They said you were almost completely blind,” she said softly, her throat closing around the last word.

He nodded. “I can see changes in light and shadow,” he said, “ but details, colours, no.”

Her tears fell freely then, and he kissed them away until his mouth claimed hers once again and his hands roamed over her, seeing without seeing her shoulders, breasts and waist. They returned to her breasts and he lifted his head. He shifted the direction of his gaze until they appeared to have followed his hands. “Demelza?”

Off in the distance, Julia cried.


	2. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is 1918. The Poldark family have long assumed Ross Poldark perished at war, including his young wife at Nampara, Demelza. However, Christmas 1918… Ross returns, but he is almost completely blind.
> 
> A modernish AU Written for the Tell Me a Story I Haven’t Written meme on Tumblr. Prompt by @goodgirlwhoshopeful. Beta by the splendid @rainpuddle13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the overwhelming support for the first chapter! Hope you like this one. Shorter than the first...Get your kleenex. And there will be a third chapter.

The baby’s cry startled him: made the saliva dry up in his mouth and beads of sweat form along his upper lip. A child? Of all of the things he’d considered encountering his first day home, a child was not one of them. His initial panic gave way to disbelief. That he should be so lucky not only to be alive, but at home with the woman whose mere existence on the planet had given him the strength to struggle through the oftentimes humiliating process of re-learning the basics of life, and be a father, too?

Demelza’s hand left his and she rose from the sofa. “I must see to her, Ross,” she said, her voice tight with emotion.

“Her?” he rasped, swinging his face up in the direction of her voice. He swallowed over the lump that seemed to want to weld his throat shut. “I’m sorry…Her?” he repeated. There was a pause and he figured she was nodding. It happened all the time, people using non-verbal communication to speak to one another. That didn’t help someone who could barely make out shadows in bright light. “Did you just nod, Demelza?”

“Oh, oh y-yes, I did, Ross,” she said, stammering, “I’m sorry.”

He reached for her hand. God, did she have any idea how hard it was for him to do that? He felt her fingers slide into his palm seconds later and released the breath he’d held at his supplication. “A daughter?” he murmured. “I have a daughter?”

Another pause, briefer this time, followed by a squeeze to his hand. “Yes, Ross, you have a daughter.” A lengthier pause, and he knew she was thinking. He wondered if she were worrying her bottom lip, as she had done when they were courting. He pictured it in his mind, the vivid colours of her hair, her pale skin, her pink lips, and the dusting of freckles across her cheeks.

He needed to be on his feet, the better to expend some of the nervous energy so he stood, linking his fingers with hers. “May I…may I meet her, Demelza?”

Her hand twitched in his and clasped his fingers tighter. “Yes, of course, Ross. She is upstairs.” She paused again. “Let me get your cane. You can take my arm as we climb the stairs, but you will want your cane when we get there.”

He nodded. “Thank you. Have you changed the furnishing around up there?” he asked?

Another pause, but she squeezed his hand, as if she were establishing new cues to share with him. “The bed is where you…we had it when you were here. There is a sofa and a rocking chair near the hearth. And I moved the desk over to the guest room so I would have space for Julia’s cot and drawers.”

“Julia?” he breathed. “Her name is Julia?”

“Julia Grace, Ross,” Demelza said, stepping close to him. Her breast brushed his upper arm and the gesture made him draw in a shuddering breath. “I thought it would please you.”

He turned, raised his other hand and brought it to her cheek. He leaned forward, praying she would meet him halfway and steer his lips to hers. She did, and he slid his arms around her waist, kissing her tenderly before he drew back. “It does, Demelza, very much. Take me to her, please?” He felt her nod before she reached up and took his hand. She gave him his cane and they made their way to the stairs.

Years of living at the cottage had given him tremendous muscle memory for the layout of the house. They walked up the stairs with little difficulty. When they reached the top, he extended the cane in front of him and began to move forward, swinging it to and fro, gently tapping the floor in front of him and they progressed. “Is this one of the things you learned at hospital, Ross?” she asked. “To help you see without seeing, as you said?”

He detected no malice or anger in her voice, merely curiosity. He nodded. “Yes, it is. I am able to make out shadows when I am in bright light, because the contrast is so stark. But in darker spaces, like this hallway, it is much harder to see the edges of things. The cane helps in situations like that.” He factored another four steps before they would be in front of the bedchamber door and he was correct. All of the tedious memory exercises, where he would map out the lay out of the house, the farm, even the mine, had been worth the effort. She pressed open the door and led him inside.

The room smelled different than it had before, more floral and powdery. He grinned. Of course it would, since they had only had two weeks here before he’d had to ship out. He remembered those two weeks where they’d not wanted to leave the room’s confines any longer than required for the necessities of life.. They’d known his time in England was short so they’d availed themselves of the room’s privacy and seclusion for as long as they could. Now that he thought about it, and the lovemaking they’d shared during that time, was it any wonder they’d conceived a child?

“Welcome home, Cap’n Ross, sir,” a quavering, voice spoke and he recognized it as Prudie Paynter’s. It was clear she was holding back her tears.

“Hello, Prudie,” he said softly, “thank you. It is good to be home.” He heard a sob and her retreating footsteps before the door softly clicked shut.

Demelza led him over to the sofa. “Sit here, Ross,” she said softly. “I’ll get the baby.”

His heart thundered in his chest as he nodded and sat, nervously rubbing his hands across the velvety texture of the fabric. He cocked his head, following the sound of Demelza’s footsteps, using all of his remaining senses to create the visual images of what she might be doing. Soft, moist cooing noises from the baby made his throat ache and the palms of his hands itch to feel her wriggling weight in them. The sound of Demelza’s voice, low and quiet, was murmuring something across the room. He pictured her, bent over the cradle, her small, strong hands scooping their child up into her arms. Then, a momentary drop in the heat from the fire and change in the shadows told him his wife stood before him. He raised his head up, hoping the fear and apprehension he had raging through his body would not be reflected upon his face.

“Hold out your hands, about a foot apart,” Demelza whispered. Tears pricked his damaged eyes as he raised his hands. “Ross, meet your daughter, Julia Grace.”

He exhaled as a squirming, gurgling mass was eased down into his palms and the muscles in his arms fired convulsively to cradle her towards his chest. She smelled of powder and milk and writhed like a freshly caught fish. A rush of sensation, as if all of the nerves in his body were jolted with electricity, surged through him, from feet to legs to balls to gut to chest, arms and head and it left him gasping for air. His daughter. _His daughter!_ The tears he’d done his best to keep at bay flowed freely now. He felt the sofa dip next to him, felt Demelza lean against him, her left arm slipping around his shoulders while the right slid along the length of his, cradling him as he cradled their child.


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is 1918. The Poldark family have long assumed Ross Poldark perished at war, including his young wife at Nampara, Demelza. However, Christmas 1918… Ross returns, but he is almost completely blind.
> 
> A modernish AU Written for the Tell Me a Story I Haven’t Written meme on Tumblr. Prompt by @goodgirlwhoshopeful. Beta by the splendid @rainpuddle13

Demelza looked at Ross holding his baby daughter for the first time. The emotions coursing through her made her tremble. The simple fact that she was _sitting_ _next to him_ , after thinking him _dead_ for almost a year, was enough to shatter anyone’s composure, but then to introduce him to the daughter he hadn’t known he had was almost too much to bear.

She raised her hand along his back to brush the nape of his neck. She felt him shiver slightly as her fingers continued up to touch the close-cropped hair above. It felt like velvet and it made her long to continue her explorations. But Julia came first. She shifted, leaned forward to brush away the tears from his cheeks and felt her heart squeeze within her chest. He was saying the word “hello” over and over again, their daughter’s eyes transfixed on his face. No, not saying, she realized. He was mouthing the words, but his sobs robbed him of sound.

She rose to her feet, slipping her hands around the baby to pull her away from him, her heart breaking at the cry that came from him as she did. She kissed Julia, on her forehead and hurried over to her cradle, laying her down and praying she would stay quiet. She turned to see him, his head on his knees, arms wrapped around his waist. He rocked back and forth, his voice restored; a keening cry shook his shoulders, muffled only by his knees. She hurried over, kneeling in front of him, her hands stroking his head and shoulders. “Ross, hush now…” she pleaded with him. “Please hush, dearest, I’m here.”

He sat up and held out his arms to her. She settled on his lap and cradled his head against her neck. His hands flexed against her back to grip her tight against his body. The moist heat of his breath warmed the hollow of her throat. He smelled of bay rum, soap and that indefinable essence of Ross. Her own tears fell, remembering the times over the last several months when she would have to hold one of his shirts to her face, breathing deeply to capture his scent as it faded further into nothingness with each passing day. Here he was in the flesh! Not only was the smell of him sharp in her nostrils, she could tangle her fingers in his thick locks, feel the quaking of his body against hers. She pressed kisses along his hairline, gently shushing him with nonsense words, feeling his breathing beginning to calm.

He took first one, then a second deep, shuddering breath before he drew back from her, lowering one of his hands to extract a handkerchief from his back pocket. Demelza shifted from his lap to sit next to him while he blew his nose and mopped at his face. “Can I get you some water, dear?” she asked.

He gave a shaky laugh, which sounded more like a sob than a laugh. “I could do with something stronger,” his voice rumbled.

It was her turn to laugh. “I’ve some brandy downstairs,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be right back.” She stood, pausing to run her hand over his hair. She’d noticed he’d brushed it using pomade in an attempt to contain the wild curls that grew so luxuriantly. Worn shorter now than it had been since they met, the hair on the top of his head had become mussed during their embrace. Spiralling, black curls tangled with her fingers, distracting her from her tasks. She shook herself and, leaning down to kiss his forehead, stepped out of the room. It felt good to stretch her legs and, if she were honest, give herself some space from him for a moment. She had so many conflicting emotions: elation that he was still one of the blessed above, as Aunt Agatha would say; confusion over what had happened; hurt that he’d held himself from her for months; apprehension about what was to come. She knew she would – at some point – come to terms with all of it, but battling them one after another, one _atop_ the other, was more exhausting than she’d imagined.

She found Prudie in the kitchen, sniffling whilst she stirred the stew she’d planned for dinner. “Prudie?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Can you bring tea up to the master bedroom, please?” she asked. Prudie nodded and began to put a tray together. Demelza stopped in the parlour to pick up the brandy carafe and two glasses before moving towards the stairs. Her mother’s sharp hearing picked up on the sound of Julia fussing. She hurried up the stairs and nudged open the bedroom door. She found Ross standing next to the cradle, his large olive-skinned hand resting on Julia’s belly, gently rubbing back and forth. He was listening to her laugh and coo up at him. The smile on his face stopped her heart.

She stepped into the room and he turned his head in her direction. “What is it?” he asked.

She moved to set the brandy down on Julia’s chest of drawers. “May I ask you a question?” He nodded. “Is it my imagination or is your hearing sharper?”

He took a sip of brandy and nodded again. “Yes, it is. It was part of the specialized treatment I received.”

She reached down to pick up the baby and wrinkled her nose. “Well, if your hearing is better, I have to wonder what they did about your sense of smell, Ross,” she said with a laugh, and settled Julia against her chest. “Our girl needs a change.”

He smiled over the rim of his glass. “Well, I did notice, but I’ve never changed a baby before and don’t think it’s something I should learn how to do by myself.”

She blanched. How could she have been so stupid! “Ross, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to imply tha—”

“—Demelza, I was teasing. I didn’t mean it that way,” he said, reaching out towards her and placing his hand on Julia’s back. “I would very much like to learn how to do it so I can share in her care.” He tilted his head down, his eyes once again appearing to see straight through to her soul.

She took the brandy glass from him and set it down. “All right, Ross,” she said, taking his hand, “follow me.” She spent the next fifteen minutes going over all of the steps require to change the baby. They both laughed and gasped with fake horror at the mess they encountered, but Julia was patient throughout the experience. Soon, her little bottom was washed, powdered, wrapped and pinned in a cloth diaper. Ross only pricked his finger twice.

She picked up Julia and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Are you hungry, my girl,” she crooned softly in her ear. She touched Ross’s arm. “I must feed her, too.”

“You’re still nursing her, yes?” he said, and she noticed the ridge of his cheeks had turned ruddy. “I…it was one of the things I noticed when I held you downstairs. They’ve… your breasts.” He swallowed, shifting his gaze to where they were. “They’re larger and firmer. Almost hard.”

“Y-yes,” she said, embarrassment and arousal bubbling up in her belly. “Once she feeds they will soften a bit, but they are larger.” She felt the tingle that usually signalled her milk coming down. She grabbed his hand and led him to the sofa. “Can you hold her for a moment?” He nodded and held his arms out to her, as if he’d been doing it for decades. She laid the baby in his arms, sat next to him and unbuttoned her blouse and adjusted her shift to free her breasts. They were heavy and ached. She reached for the baby, sliding her out of his arms once again. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s okay, love,” he said softly. He slid his arm around the top of the sofa. “Could you lean against me whilst you feed her?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling breathless as she settled back against his body. The baby’s cheek rooted against her breast and found what she was looking for. Demelza winced a little with the force of her daughter’s suckling mouth. She made the loveliest sounds when she nursed, and Demelza drifted into the near-hypnotic state the rhythmic pulls on her flesh and the flow of the milk gave her.

She could feel the pressure of Ross’s hand as he stroked the baby’s head as she nursed, the movements timed with the suckling. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple and down to her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.

She opened her eyes and turned her head to look up at him. The scarred eyes were closed, a tear streaking down one cheek. “Whatever for, Ross?” she said, wishing she could wipe it away.

He opened his eyes. “For rallying. For not giving up on everything when you heard I was dead. For this,” he said, nodding his head towards Julia. “For welcoming me home as gracefully as you have.” He paused, running the thumb of his right hand along his lower lip, a gesture she hadn’t even realized she’d missed. The sight of it was like a burst of sunshine in her heart. “You had every right to cast me out after what I’ve put you through for the past three months. Being within driving distance of you and never letting on. And yet here we are, sitting in our bedroom and sharing the moment.”

She swallowed. “Ross, I think there will need to be a time when we talk about all that’s happened. I don’t expect things to be back to where they were when you left us last year. And there may be things that we disagree about. Strongly. But it’s Christmas Eve. My husband, whom I once thought lost to me forever, is found.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Now, I need to turn her before she falls asleep.”

She shifted the baby back up towards her shoulder, rubbing her back gently until she gave a healthy burp that had Ross chortling in wonder. As she moved the baby to her other breast, a knock came on the door. Demelza pulled up a coverlet to shield herself and the baby.

“Come in,” Ross said in his ringing bass voice. It made her toes curl with remembrance of that voice in her ear. Prudie entered the room carrying a tea tray.

“Beg your pardon, ma’am, sir,” she said, smiling on the last word. “I put some of the fresh baked ginger biscuits on for a treat. Dinner will be ready in about ninety minutes.” She set the tray on the small tea table in front of the sofa.

“Thank you, Prudie,” Demelza said. She bobbed a curtsey and left the room.

Demelza slipped the coverlet down and looked at the tea tray. A thought occurred to her. “Ross, would it help if I described the way the tea tray is set up? I’ve got several more minutes before I’ll be able to serve you.”

He grinned. “That would be splendid, Demelza, thank you.”

“Tell me how?” she asked.

“Like a clockface,” he said. “Top is twelve o’clock, to the right is three o’clock, and so on.”

She leaned forward and chewed her bottom lip. “All right, then…the tea pot is at nine o’clock, the handle pointed towards your right hand. Teacups are to the left of the pot. Milk, sugar and lemon are at twelve o’clock from the teapot. The biscuits are at three o’clock from the tea pot.” She looked at him as he memorized what she’d said. “Can you manage?”

He nodded. “I shall wait until you are finished before pouring for you,” he said softly. He slipped his arm from around her shoulders and proceeded to pour his tea, add the cream and sugar she remembered him loving and set everything to rights with only a single clatter of the china. He settled in next to her once again.

Demelza was gobsmacked. “I am so impressed, Ross!”

He blushed. “It was all down to your expert directions, my dear. Thank you, for doing that, by the way.” He took a sip of tea and turned towards her. “I was wrong to keep you away, Demelza. I know that now.”

“Can you tell me why?” she asked. He sighed. “If it’s too difficult—”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I…I think it would be better when you’ve finished feeding Julia,” he said softly. It was the first time he’d said her name since meeting her. Emotion welled in her throat as he set the teacup down in its saucer and leaned back, slipped his right arm around Demelza’s shoulders once again and reached down with his left hand to stroke the baby’s chubby thigh. “She’s a marvel, isn’t she?”

Demelza nodded, her head nestled against his shoulder. “She is indeed.”

“Describe her to me, will you?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’ve no idea what she looks like…who she takes after.”

“She is very much the image of her father, Ross,” she said softly. “She has your hair, black with copper when she’s in the sun. It’s curly, too, although not as curly as yours, although I think it will be as she grows older.” She looked down on their daughter, who had started to doze, her mouth frantically suckling one moment, only to fall lax the next. She lifted the baby and held her against her shoulder, rubbing her back once again. His hand reached out to stroke the baby’s head, gathering a curl against his smallest finger and she was moved to tears. “She has your eyes, Ross,” she choked. He shifted, gathered them both against his chest. They were quiet for some time, while she regained her composure. “They were blue at first, right after she was born and for some weeks after,” she continued, pressing a kiss to her sleeping child’s head, breathing in the combined scent that was her family: bay rum, milk, powder, flowers. “But then they began to change. Grey, then green until they settled on hazel.”

“Demelza.” His voice was tight. “Surely there must be some of her mother in her as well.”

“She has my hands and feet, the poor lamb,” she said with a laugh.

“You have lovely hands and feet, dearest,” he said.

She peered up at him. “She’s been smiling a lot lately. People have said she has my smile.”

“Then she is beautiful, without question,” he said, pressing a kiss on Demelza’s nose. She shifted slightly so that his next kiss would fall on her lips, and they lingered, slowly fanning the embers that had been banked in order to tend to Julia.

She broke their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose with hers. “She’s sleeping,” she said softly. “I’ll put her down.” She rose and walked over to Julia’s cradle, lying her down and slipping the knitted blanket over her. She adjusted her shift and blouse before returning to his side. Her hand touched his shoulder, sliding along his arm to take his hand. “Come with me.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

His head turned in her direction at her words and he got to his feet. His body quickened, somnolent arousal stirring with each beat of his heart. She pulled him close to her and his hands slipped low along her spine. “Are you certain?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse as her hands slid up to rest on his chest.

“Yes.” She brushed a kiss against his mouth. “I’ve been sure since I saw you on the threshold.” Another feather-light kiss. “The only thing that stopped me from doing this earlier was Julia.” A longer kiss, a whisper of tongue. “She’s had her time with you. Now it’s time for her mother to welcome her father home, properly.”

His need for her had grown with each passing word. She kissed him, her fingers sliding up his chest to his neck and into his hair. His mouth claimed hers, ferociously, breath hissing from his nostrils pressed against her cheek. She mewled low in her throat as his hands roamed over her back before coming to rest against her buttocks. He moaned against her tongue as he squeezed and lifted her against his hardened length, the feel of her, no longer part of fevered, sweating dreams that left him aching, bedding damp with his semen. Real, warm, fragrant, trembling, his.

“Demelza,” he moaned against her mouth. “The bed, please.” Her lips left his and he was instantly bereft of their touch. She took his hand and led the way. She pressed him down onto the mattress then stepped away. “Where are you going?” he asked, unnerved by the desperation he heard in his voice.

“To get another oil lamp,” she said from across the room.

He gasped, nodding. “Yes, please God, yes. As many we can manage.” He began to loosen his tie, stripping it from his throat. The fabric whistled through his collar. He reached down to untie his shoes, kicking them off with force, not caring about any damage he might do to them or the furnishings. He heard her return as he stripped off his socks and she set down first one, then another on the table. “How many in total?”

“Three, counting the one already here,” she said. He sighed, reaching for her to draw her down for another kiss. She laughed against his mouth. “Let me light them, Ross!” He reached for the collar of his shirt, then felt her hands stop him. “No. I want to do that, but we need light first.”

“Hurry,” he said, standing behind her, pressed against her as she bent to light the lamp. He heard the matches in the matchbox shake as she attempted to strike one, then another and still another. She cursed with each one until he stopped her. “Give it to me.”

“But—” she exclaimed in frustration.

“I will light it, you lead me to the lamps,” he said, his hands reaching for the matchbox. She placed it in his palm with a smack and he kissed her cheek. He extracted a match, slid the lid closed and hit the sandy surface on the side. He saw the brightness of the flame as it blazed to life. “Guide me, Demelza, quickly now.”

She took his hand and touched the wick of the first lamp. He snapped the first match out after it nearly burnt his fingers. “Let me light the rest from here, Ross,” she said. He heard the hiss of another match coming to life. Slowly, with each lamp lit, the shadows grew more distinct. By the time she was through, a clear silhouette of her figure was discernable. He reached out a hand, grasping her arm. She gasped. “Ross?”

“I can see your shape, Demelza,” he said throatily. His hands turned her to face him and moved to her breasts. The silhouette before him now, embellished with the memories of a year ago, manifested in his mind’s eye. “God, you are so beautiful.” Her nipples, hard as diamonds and as large as ripened raspberries, burned the centre of his palms through her shift. He kissed her, hard, losing himself in the feel of her mouth, her tongue. His lips left hers to move along the column of her throat, and the scent of the lilac perfume he remembered she’d worn since they’d met rose from between her breasts. He kissed her shoulder, pulling her shift out of the way to free her breast, full and firm in his hands. His knees weakened at his first taste of her, nipple rising harder against his tongue as it curled around her. He heard her gasp, her fingers holding his head as he sampled her, surprised when a rush of milk hit his tongue.

She pulled back suddenly, heat rushing to her face. “I-I’m so sorry, Ross. Oh God,” she breathed as he stood to take her in his arms.

“Dearest, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “Or embarrassed about. It is a part of you and I love it. Every part of you. But if it makes you uncom—”

“—No, it’s not that,” she said. “It was just unexpected. I didn’t want to shock you.”

“Not at all,” he said, brushing her lips with his. “Now, I believe you said you wanted to help me with something?” He placed her hands at his throat. She laughed and unbuttoned his shirt, managing it and his braces in near silence, her hands wandering over a part of him she’d exposed. Her fingers rubbed and pinched his nipples, which earned her a growling bite along her neck. Each caress telegraphed its way to his cock, making it pulse heavily in his trousers. When she reached for his waistband, the back of her fingers brushed against his belly, and his hips thrust forward against her, the feeling of inevitability growing within him far too soon. “God. Oh, God,” he groaned against her throat. He pressed her away from him and stood for several moments, breathing very hard. He raised his head and smiled ruefully at her. “You’d better let me do that, my dear. I fear I need you too much.” He moved his hands from her arms to her clothes. “I believe I can manage your blouse, but not your skirt, without instruction, and I need you too badly now.”

“Y-yes Ross,” she stammered. They both backed away from one another and managed the their garments quickly. When they finished he turned and reached for her. She was still wearing her shift, which made him smile, for he’d kept his own pants on, feeling oddly shy before her. That moment shattered seconds later by her hands slipping under the waistband to cup and squeeze his buttocks, making him grunt and thrust against her until he reached down to shove them off his hips and to the floor. He grabbed fistfuls of the worn cotton material, pulling it up and over her head with little finesse until she was naked and in his hands, against his body.

Their hands were everywhere at once as they took one another’s mouths. They shuffled backwards until the back of her knees hit the bed and they toppled, rolled, bucked and ground against one another. He raised his head from her breasts, drawing himself above her and slid his knee between hers. As she opened her legs, the remembered scent of her arousal struck his nostrils and he froze, his orgasm so close he feared he would be undone. “Quiet, be still,” he panted, raising his hips away from her skin, his frame shaking with control. “I’m so close, Demelza, please.”

“As am I, dear Ross.” He felt the soft hair of her womanhood brush his thigh. He choked on a sob. “Just a step or two more and we will be together, in all things,” she pleaded.

He nodded, slipping between her thighs and driving himself into her body. He came instantly, his entire body convulsing and jerking over her as he cried out into the pillow next to her ear. He felt her core twist and squeeze him, her legs clamped around his waist, nails sunk deep into his back, her teeth in his shoulder. He continued to thrust inside her, slick with his seed and her body’s dew, unwilling to acknowledge it was over, for it never would be over, not for them.

His body, slaked and replete in its satisfaction, began to soften. He slowed, stilling over her, supporting the weight of his torso on his forearms. He lifted his head, wishing now – more than any time since he’d been back – to be able to see her face clearly, flushed and sweat lined, eyes half-closed in satisfaction, lips bruised from his kisses. He felt her hand brush the hair at his nape, her legs squeeze his hips to hold him inside her.

“Ross,” she sighed against his ear. “I love you so.”

He shivered. “I love you, Demelza,” he said softly, brushing a kiss on her collarbone. He paused for a moment. “I can’t believe we didn’t wake Julia.”

She laughed throatily, and the movement of her belly against his made his toes curl. “She is a very good sleeper.”

“She is, is she?” he asked, brushing her lips with his. Demelza nodded, giving his waist another squeeze with her legs.

“Good,” he responded, pressing his hips against her and savouring her mouth with his tongue. “I find I have need of her mother once again.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all of you who offered your wonderful comments and kudos! See you around the interwebs!

**Author's Note:**

> What started off as a couple of paragraphs has grown to over 2200 words. Not sure if this will become an ongoing story (because I've absolutely no plot line or structure beyond what you see here). We'll see what happens! The poem, If I Should Die, was written by Thomas Gray, poet, classical scholar and Cambridge don (1716 – 1771).


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